our village-第7部分

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Lady　Russell；　who　had　sent　the　phaeton　with　the　fast…stepping　horse　to　meet　us；　was　walking　in　the　park　as　we　drove　up；　and　instead　of　taking　us　back　to　the　house；　she　first　led　the　way　across　the　grass　and　by　the　stream　to　the　old　church；　standing　in　its　trim　sweet　garden；　where　Death　itself　seems　smiling　and　fearless；　where　kind　Mary　Mitford's　warm　heart　rests　quiet；　and　'her　busy　hand；'　as　she　says　herself；　'is　lying　in　peace　there；　where　the　sun　glances　through　the　great　elm　trees　in　the　beautiful　churchyard　of　Swallowfield。'

The　last　baronet；　Sir　Charles；　who　fought　in　the　Crimea；　and　who　succeeded　his　father；　Sir　Henry；　moved　the　dividing　rail　so　that　his　old　friend　should　be　well　within　the　shadow　of　these　elm　trees。　Lady　Russell　showed　us　the　tranquil　green　place；　and　told　us　its　story；　and　how　the　old　church　had　once　been　doomed　to　destruction　when　Kingsley　came　over　by　chance；　and　pleaded　that　it　should　be　spared；　and　how；　when　rubbish　and　outward　signs　of　decay　had　been　cleared　away；　the　restorers　were　rewarded　for　their　piety；　by　coming　upon　noble　beams　of　oak；　untouched　by　time；　upon　some　fine　old　buried　monuments　and　brasses　and　inscriptions；　among　which　the　people　still　say　their　prayers　in　the　shrine　where　their　fathers　knelt；　and　of　which　the　tradition　is　not　yet　swept　away。　　The　present　Lady　of　the　Manor；　who　loves　old　traditions；　has　done　her　part　to　preserve　the　records　for　her　children。

So　Miss　Mitford　walked　from　Three　Mile　Cross　to　Swallowfield　to　end　her　days；　with　these　kind　friends　to　cheer　and　to　comfort　her。　　Sir　Henry　Russell　was　alive　when　she　first　established　herself；　but　he　was　already　suffering　from　some　sudden　seizure；　which　she；　with　her　usual　impetuosity；　describes　in　her　letters　as　a　chronic　state　of　things。　　After　his　death；　his　widow；　the　Lady　Russell　of　those　days；　was　her　kindest　friend　and　comforter。

The　little　Swallowfield　cottage　at　the　meeting　of　the　three　roads；　to　which　Mary　Mitford　came　when　she　left　Three　Mile　Cross；　has　thrown　out　a　room　or　two；　as　cottages　do；　but　otherwise　I　think　it　can　be　little　changed。　　It　was　here　Miss　Mitford　was　visited　by　so　many　interesting　people；　here　she　used　to　sit　writing　at　her　big　table　under　the　'tassels　of　her　acacia　tree。'　　When　the　present　Lady　of　the　Manor　brought　us　to　the　gate；　the　acacia　flowers　were　over；　but　a　balmy　breath　of　summer　was　everywhere；　a　beautiful　rose　was　hanging　upon　the　wall　beneath　the　window　（it　must　have　taken　many　years　to　grow　to　such　a　height）；　and　beyond　the　palings　of　the　garden　spread　the　fields；　ripening　in　the　late　July；　and　turning　to　gold。　　The　farmer　and　his　son　were　at　work　with　their　scythes；　the　birds　were　still　flying；　the　sweet　scents　were　in　the　air。

From　a　lady　who　had　known　her；　'my　own　Miss　Anne'　of　the　letters；　we　heard　something　more　that　day　of　the　author　of　'Our　Village'；　of　her　charming　intellect；　her　gift　of　talk；　her　impulsiveness；　her　essential　sociability；　and　rapid　grace　of　mind。　　She　had　the　faults　of　her　qualities；　she　jumped　too　easily　to　conclusions；　she　was　too　much　under　the　influence　of　those　with　whom　she　lived。　　She　was　born　to　be　a　victim；even　after　her　old　tyrant　father's　death；　she　was　more　or　less　over…ridden　by　her　servants。　　Neighbours　looked　somewhat　doubtfully　on　K。　and　Ben；　but　they　were　good　to　her；　on　the　whole；　and　tended　her　carefully。　　Miss　Russell　said　that　when　she　and　her　brother　took　refuge　in　the　cottage；　one　morning　from　a　storm；　while　they　dried　themselves　by　the　fire；　they　saw　the　careful　meal　carried　up　to　the　old　lady；　the　kidneys；　the　custard；　for　her　dejeuner　a　la　fourchette。

When　Miss　Mitford　died；　she　left　everything　she　had　to　her　beloved　K。　and　to　Ben；　except　that　she　said　she　wished　that　one　book　from　her　well…stocked　library　should　be　given　to　each　of　her　friends。　The　old　Doctor；　with　all　his　faults；　had　loved　books；　and　bought　handsome　and　valuable　first　editions　of　good　authors。　　K。　and　Ben　also　seem　to　have　loved　books　and　first　editions。　　To　the　Russells；　who　had　nursed　Miss　Mitford；　comforted　her；　by　whose　gates　she　dwelt；　in　whose　arms　she　died；　Ben　brought；　as　a　token　of　remembrance；　an　old　shilling　volume　of　one　of　G。　P。　R。　James's　novels；　which　was　all　he　could　bear　to　part　with。　　A　prettier　incident　was　told　me　by　Miss　Russell；　who　once　went　to　visit　Miss　Mitford's　grave。　　She　found　a　young　man　standing　there　whom　she　did　not　know。　　'Don't　you　know　me？'　said　he；　'I　am　Henry；　ma'am。　　I　have　just　come　back　from　Australia。'　　He　was　one　of　the　children　of　the　couple　who　had　lived　in　the　cottage；　and　his　first　visit　on　his　return　from　abroad　had　been　to　the　tomb　of　his　old　protectress。

I　also　heard　a　friend　who　knew　Miss　Mitford　in　her　latest　days；　describe　going　to　see　her　within　a　very　few　months　of　her　death；　she　was　still　bright　and　responding　as　ever；　though　very　ill。　　The　young　visitor　had　herself　been　laid　up　and　absent　from　the　invalid's　bedside　for　some　time。　　They　talked　over　many　things；an　authoress　among　the　rest；　concerning　whose　power　of　writing　a　book　Miss　Mitford　seems　to　have　been　very　doubtful。　　After　her　visitor　was　gone；　the　sick　woman　wrote　one　of　her　delicate　pretty　little　notes　and　despatched　it　with　its　tiny　seal　（there　it　is　still　unbroken；　with　its　M。　R。　M。　just　as　she　stamped　it）；　and　this　is　the　little　letter：

Thank　you；　dearest　Miss　。　。　。　　for　once　again　showing　me　your　fair　face　by　the　side　of　the　dear；　dear　friend　＇Lady　Russell＇　for　whose　goodness　I　have　neither　thanks　nor　words。　　To　the　end　of　my　life　I　shall　go　on　sinning　and　repenting。　　Heartily　sorry　have　I　been　ever　since　you　went　away　to　have　spoken　so　unkindly　to　Mrs　。　。　。　。　Heaven　forgive　me　for　it；　and　send　her　a　happier　conclusion　to　her　life　than　the　beginning　might　warrant。　　If　you　have　an　idle　lover；　my　dear；　present　over　to　him　my　sermon；　for　those　were　words　of　worth。

God　bless　you　all！　　Ever；　most　faithfully　and　affectionately　yours；　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　M。　R。　MITFORD。　Sunday　Evening。

VIII。

When　one　turns　from　Miss　Mitford's　works　to　the　notices　in　the　biographical　dictionary　（in　which　Miss　Mitford　and　Mithridates　occupy　the　same　page）；　one　finds　how　firmly　her　reputation　is　established。　　'Dame　auteur；'　says　my　faithful　mentor；　the　Biographic　Generale；　'consideree　comme　le　peintre　le　plus　fidele　de　la　vie　rurale　en　Angleterre。'　　'Author　of　a　remarkable　tragedy；　〃Julian；〃　in　which　Macready　played　a　principal　part；　followed　by　〃Foscari；〃　〃Rienzi；〃　and　others；'　says　the　English　Biographical　Dictionary。

'I　am　charmed　with　my　new　cottage；'　she　writes　soon　after　her　last　installation；　'the　neighbours　are　most　kind。'　　Kingsley　was　one　of　the　first　to　call　upon　her。　　'He　took　me　quite　by　surprise　in　his　extraordinary　fascination；'　says　the　old　lady。

Mr。　Fields；　the　American　publisher；　also　went　to　see　Miss　Mitford　at　Swallowfield；　and　immediately　became　a　very　great　ally　of　hers。　　It　was　to　him　that　she　gave　her　own　portrait；　by　Lucas。　　Mr。　Fields　has　left　an　interesting　account　of　her　in　his　'Yesterdays　with　Authors'…　…'Her　dogs　and　her　geraniums；'　he　says；　'were　her　great　glories！　She　used　to　write　me　long　letters　about　Fanchon；　a　dog　whose　personal　acquaintance　I　had　made　some　time　before；　while　on　a　visit　to　her　cottage。　　Every　virtue　under　heaven　she　attributed　to　that　canine　individual；　and　I　was　obliged　to　allow　in　my　return　letters　that　since　our　planet　began　to　spin；　nothing　comparable　to　Fanchon　had　ever　run　on　four　legs。　　I　had　also　known　Flush；　the　ancestor　of　Fanchon；　intimately；　and　had　been　accustomed　to　hear　wonderful　things　of　that　dog；　but　Fanchon　had　graces　and　genius　unique。　　Miss　Mitford　would　have　joined　with　Hamerton；　when　he　says；　'I　humbly　thank　Divine　Providence　for　having　invented　dogs；　and　I　regard　that　man　with　wondering　pity　who　can　lead　a　dogless　life。'

Another　of　Miss　Mitford's　great　friends　was　John　Ruskin；*　and　one　can　well　imagine　how　much　they　must　have　had　in　common。　　Of　Miss　Mitford's　writings　Ruskin　says；　'They　have　the　playfulness　and　purity　of　the　〃Vicar　of　Wakefield〃　without　the　naughtiness　of　its　occasional　wit；　or　the　dust　of　the　world's　great　road　on　the　other　side　of　the　hedge。　。　。　。　'

*It　is　Mr。　Harness　who　says；　writing　of　Ruskin　and　Miss　Mitford；　'His　kindness　cheered　her　closing　days。　　He　sent　her　every　book　that　would　interest；　every　delicacy　that　would　strengthen　her。'

Neither　the　dust　nor　the　ethics　of　the　world　of　men　quite　belonged　to　Miss　Mitford's　genius。　　It　is　always　a　sort　of　relief　to　turn　from　her　criticism　of　people；　her　praise　of　Louis　Napoleon；　her　facts　about　Mr。　Dickens；　whom　she　describes　as　a　dull　companion；　or　about　my　father；　whom　she　looked　upon　as　an　utter　heartless　worldling；　to　the　natural　spontaneous　sweet　flow　of　nature　in　which　she　lived　and　moved　instinctively。

Mr。　James　Payn　gives；　perhaps；　the　most　charming　of　all　the　descriptions　of　the　author　of　'Our　Village。'　　He　has　many　letters　from　her　to　quote　from。　　'The　paper　is　all　odds　and　ends；'　he　says；　'and　not　a　scrap　of　it　but　is　covered　and　crossed。　　The　very　flaps　of　the　envelopes　and　the　outsides　of　them　have　their　message。'

Mr。　Payn　went　to　see　her　at　Swallowfield；　and　describes　the　small　apartment　lined　with　books　from　floor　to　ceiling　and　fragrant　with　flowers。　　'Its　tenant　rose　from　her　arm…chair　with　difficulty；　but　with　a　sunny　smile　and　a　charming　manner　bade　me　welcome。　　My　father　had　been　an　old　friend　of　hers；　and　she　spoke　of　my　home　and　belongings　as　only　a　woman　can　speak　of　such　things；　then　we　plunged　into　medea　res；　into　men　and　books。　　She　seemed　to　me　to　have　known　everybody　worth　knowing　from　the　Duke　of　Wellington　to　the　last　new　verse…maker。　　And　she　talked　like　an　angel；　but　her　views　upon　poetry　as　a　calling　in　life；　shocked　me　not　a　little。　　She　said　she　preferred　a　mariage　de　convenance　to　a　love　match；　because　it　generally　turned　out　better。　　〃This　surprises　you；〃　she　said；　smiling；　〃but　then　I　suppose　I　am　the　least　romantic　person　that　ever　wrote　plays。〃　　She　was　much　more　proud　of　her　plays；　even　then　well…nigh　forgotten；　than　of　the　works　by　which　she　was　well　known；　and　which　at　that　time　brought　people　from　the　ends　of　the　earth　to　see　her。　。　。　。

'Nothing　ever　destroyed　her　faith　in　those　she　loved。　　If　I　had　not　known